Lockheart
by Ailidh Caer
Summary: Too many years have passed, Dean is dead for good along with his wife, Camille Lockheart. Their two children, Alan and Genevieve have been scattered across the globe, separating themselves from the traumatizing past they share. When Castiel shows up to Genevieve's home in Scotland trouble ensues and time is traveled through until something from their past comes back to bite them.
1. Chapter 1

There's something you've got to know about siblings. There are times when they are the only friends you have in the world and there are other days when you just kinda wanna rip their lungs out through their chest. There was a time when I was younger with my big brother, Alan.

It was about first grade I had tripped and fallen, cutting my knee open and he came and carried me to the nurse. That's how it used to be anyway. I mean he has his moments where he'll take me to get food and not have me pay for my food but he never really is as nice to me as he used to be. And he just kind of started to push me aside. Like I was some kind of freak or something, and he'd always talk to me like I was stupid or something ridiculous like that.

I just kinda wanted to fit in, y'know? But no matter how much I work at it everything I did was still wrong. I just… I just wanna be more like him I guess. But I'm just too different. But since the first grade incident a lot has changed. After that year we started to travel a lot, dad taking Alan and I around in the old beat up muscle car he'd gotten before we were even born with our uncle. It might have been because my first grade year my mother had died. Alan never gave me a straight answer as to how she died. No matter how much I bugged him, he still wouldn't tell me. Until eleventh grade, when dad died too.

Now by this time Alan was old enough to drive so he took on the old muscle car and we continued travelling. We didn't travel just to see the sights. I wish we had, it would have made my life so much simpler. But no, dad had said that there was a job that we had to be doing. I never knew what that job was; I just knew that dad was hell-bent on getting me trained up for something. He made me a proficient marksman with an old colt pistol and trained me to have greater skills than even that of Alan in hand-to-hand combat, with or without a weapon.

He always told me to watch my back, that there was always something after me. I didn't understand what he meant by that back then. Now I do.

Since about a month or so ago I have been living on my own, not even worrying about whatever it was that was out to get me. I'd moved from America to distance myself from my brother and was now living in Scotland. For years my brother and father had told me of our family, whom had hailed from Scotland. I was living in a small village known as Girvan, which held one of the most gruesome legends I'd have yet to hear. As a child my brother and father were always having me study different legends and folklore about different beasts and entities, I'd become proficient in studying mythology and even intrigued by the thought of that which cannot be described with science and common logic. A few weeks before I had moved to Scotland I had done some research on the area and found this to be the most interesting of all the Scottish and British folklore. The legend I'm speaking of is that of Sawney Bean. But that's a story for another time.

It was then that I had a major falling out with my big brother, leaving him on his own to hunt this beast from the Middle East called a Jinn. It was like a malevolent version of a Genie, having the ability to give you your greatest wish in exchange for knocking you out and drinking your blood, much like a modern vampire would. Although no stake through the heart can kill this being. You've got to have a silver knife dipped in lamb's blood in order to truly rid the world of the terrifying beast known as a Jinn. Even with vampires a stake through the heart won't do anything, they don't burst into flames in the sun, and a crucifix doesn't do anything against them. The only way to really kill a vampire is to cut its head off.

There are a lot of misunderstandings about supernatural beings in the modern world. Angels are real, but they aren't really angels. They're bigger dicks than demons! And demons are some real scuzzbags. While angels are completely lacking in individual thinking they are also God's perfect little soldiers. They do what he says, although none of them have ever actually seen him or heard from him. There are only a few select angels who get to see God and even then it's only every once in awhile that they get to see him. Other than having your major playing angels such as Gabriel, and Michael there are also these whole platoons that they call Garrisons of lower level angels. And each wing boy and girl is armed with this blade that's shaped like a triangular prism called an Arch Angel's blade. It's the only blade that can kill or even hurt an angel of any level.

Now, demons are a completely different story. You all may know Lucifer, the creator of demons. He was once an angel who fell from heaven, after trying to show God how bad of an idea human was. The apocalypse is supposed to be between Lucifer and Michael. The two opposing siblings, but again, another story for another time. Right now you need to learn about demons. There is one demon in particular that has constantly been a nuisance to my family. I don't exactly remember her name; I just know that she was always following Alan and dad around, no matter where they went. Evidently she was bent on taking my father's soul, which may have been why she was following us and why dad died the way he did. Now, back to demons. They're low-life, good-for-nothing, scumbags who will lie, cheat, hold grudges and back stab you as many times as they can. They take possession of a poor human and sometimes kill them all in order to get at what you love most. There have been a few instances in which my brother, father or I have been possessed. They committed these heinous acts as you sat idly by in your own head, unable to control your body. Sometimes they would make you kill people.

A few years back I had a boyfriend, he was the greatest thing ever. I loved him and was hoping he'd propose to me, but before that could happen this demon that has been following my family around got hold of me and made me kill him. I heard every bone snap in his body and felt his blood run down my hands. I had never wanted to do or witness something like that. She made me watch as she murdered the only man who had ever come to love me as I am. He had been a hunter, much like my father and brother while I, on the other hand, am a Woman of Letters. I don't go out and attack the monsters I'm primarily used for research on how to kill the beings and entities and I provide the clues as to where they might be and the patterns with which the beasts are accustomed.

Although I am trained well in combat I only use it when Alan would accidentally bring the beast home with him (which happened more often than not). We had a bunker somewhere in the middle of the United States that had everything a hunter or a Man (or Woman) of Letters would need: Alcohol, every book on mythology, folklore and spells alike, and weaponry. I left that to Alan, so he would be able to have somewhere to crash if something went terribly wrong or if he really needed to just read up on something. Even then he'd prefer to refer back to his little sister or to our father's own Man of Letters, Garth. Not Garth from Wayne's World, no. This Garth (even to this day) is a scrawny kind of guy with a big nose and big ears who doesn't really fit in with the rest of the hunters. He's got the biggest heart though. Always looking out for Alan and I when dad had something that was too much for either of us to handle.

Garth was there for us a little more than dad was. I mean yeah, dad was around a lot physically, but sometimes he just kinda felt distant. We could never talk to him about anything. He would never open up. Any time we needed to have someone to talk to we either talked to our uncle or we had to call up Garth. Not that either of them were much help at all. At least not to me. They would always say something like "Hang on Gen I've gotta help this guy with a Wendigo." Or "I'll talk to you tomorrow, I swear" They never took a chance to sit down and talk to me. After a while you kinda get used to being brushed aside. What was I talking about before I got all distracted? Right, the thing that's following me.

I don't know what it is! Truth be told, I'd never heard of something like this coming across the world with someone just for the sake of following them. It's behaving like a malevolent spirit but it really can not be a spirit. I don't have anyone who would want to follow me around or anything that may have been attached to someone.


	2. Chapter 2

"Alan, I don't give a damn what you think might be linked to this! Stay home!" I'm shouting into my insanely cheap flip phone at my older brother,

"No! Gen I'm coming over to make sure you don't get hurt!" He always made this argument when we were discussing him coming out to Scotland to see me,

"Alan, no! I'll be fine!" I try to quiet my voice, seeing as my flatmate is still sleeping in the room next to mine, "You better not be coming here you little shit, whenever you do something follows you!" I'm speaking in a hushed tone as he chuckled on the other line,

"Oops." Oops? What does he mea- Oh… No… Nononononono,

"Alan don't tell me." I can practically see him smirking on the other end of the phone, "You came to Scotland?!" I'm back to almost yelling at him,

"I can't let my little sister be all by herself now, can I?" I sigh and rub my forehead, what a nuisance, "Can I get a ride? I'm stuck at the airport with no money." I let my body flop down onto the small couch in the living room of the small apartment I'm sharing with a girl from North Wales. She's a sweet girl who works at the local hospital. I really don't want to wake her after having come home from an all night shift.

I can't believe the little shit is doing this. I cross one leg over the other and lean my elbows on my knee,

"Alan how are you talking to me if you don't have any money?" I rest my head in my free hand and rub my eyes, staring blankly at the small TV set we had on a small entertainment center.

Our apartment is small but it's cozy. The floor is hardwood and we have a little, round shag carpet underneath the tiny, glass topped coffee table that stands in front of our coffee colored sofa. The entertainment center isn't too big by itself, barely covering the wall and the television is even smaller, standing maybe a foot or two off the wood paneled structure,

"I'm borrowing one from a guy on the street. Please hurry he's asking me for his phone ba-" He gets interrupted by what I assume to be the sound of the guy who's phone he stole hitting him in the face, "Hey! I'll give it back in three seconds!" In the background who I assume to be a surly Scotsman is shouting at Alan about stealing his only damn phone,

"Jeez, Al." I laugh and rub my face before standing up and grabbing my car keys, "I'll be there in like fifteen minutes. Did you bring dad's colt?" The colt I'm referring to is a 1911 colt semiautomatic pistol that I let him have after I left. I loved that gun. The muzzle is engraved with vines and roses with an ivory plate in the handle. The gun had been dad's favorite weapon. That and the Belgian Demon slaying knife that a demon named Ruby had given him,

"Yes. I'm not stupid. And I have the knife." Al is speaking through the small fight that Phoneman had engaged with him before. I nod and scribble a quick note to my flatmate, letting her know that I'd probably be back a little late. She'd be waking up in a few hours and I thought I may as well take Al to help me look into the thing that might be following me.

The girl I'm living with thinks that I'm a theology major at the local college and that's why I have an odd commodity of ancient weapons and spell books and different books on lore and why I spend so much time out and at the library. Scotland is so rich in history and so full of ghosts, some of which are not the best thing for people, so most times I'll let myself get wrapped up in a job and end up coming home with a broken arm or nose or something. The poor girl has no idea what I do. And she'd never seen a clumsier girl in her life, as she would always tell me when I got finished telling her my cover up story. I always went with something like I slipped down a flight of stairs and got up to walk home, or I was mugged or something like that. She always offered to call the police on the men who did it but I always refused, saying it wasn't worth it, that I kicked the crap out of them myself. She believed me considering sometimes she'd walk in on me training and I've almost hit her while she's watched me work on my knife throwing.

"Okay, Alan, just shut up and give the guy his damn phone back; I'll be there in five." I can practically see him rolling his eyes and nodding as I hang up the phone and begin to get my purse out. Of course the dipshit thinks right now is a good time to come out.

Wait a second. This is around when mom and dad died. He came out to make sure I'm doing okay and able to cope. This is the first time I haven't been home for him; he was much more connected to our parents than I was. I'm starting to feel bad for leaving him on his own without something to remind himself of his family that was long gone. This was the first time we were supposed to be spending the anniversaries of their deaths separate. Well I guess that's not happening anymore.

When I get outside I'm hit with a sudden, unwelcomed blast of cold air and I almost immediately turn to go back into the warmth of my apartment. I stuff my hands into my coat pockets and huddle my shoulders against the wind as I move closer to my car that's down the brick and mortar stairs on the street right in front of the apartment. My feet are shuffling quietly against the cobblestone walkway, half sliding across the ice and snow to keep from slipping and falling. When I reach my car I pull my hands out and begin to fumble with my car keys, accidentally dropping them into the gutter my car is sitting in. I curse quietly to myself and kneel down to retrieve them. A hand is there before me, picking them up and handing them to me. I didn't even know someone was walking on the sidewalk,

"Here" The voice is deep and gravelly, definitely a man and definitely from America, "Do you need any help?" I lift my head and look to see who is talking to me. He's an averagely tall guy, with messy black hair and brilliant blue eyes. He has a kind face, with very smooth features except his eyes. They look sharp and brooding but he himself doesn't seem very dark. He's wearing a black suit with a white shirt underneath and a blue tie that's backwards and black slacks, he seems to be dressed like he was getting ready to go to church. But there's no church on Wednesdays. And over this big, dark ensemble is a very long, worn out, beige, trench coat,

"Oh thank you, but I'm fine." I smile and decline his offer graciously, without wanting to hurt him too badly. The man just smiles at me, showing a gleaming set of pearly white teeth. I smile back and push my shoulder length, sand colored hair out of my eyes, "Thank you though." The man nods and walks away as I begin to unlock my car.

I shake my head as I sit in the driver's seat of the car and slam the door behind me. It was strange the way he smiled at me, like he had known me at some point or another. How strange indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

As I had said on the phone it's taken me about five or so minutes to find my way to the Girvan airport. Traffic is always such a drag in the middle of the day here in town. I hate it. Well, now I'm sitting outside, scanning the small crowd that has gathered here for my idiot of an older brother.

As my eyes flit, nervously over the blurring faces I pick at my acrylic nails and drum my thumbs on the steering wheel of my old Ford truck. I'll admit a truck is the worst idea to have in a town like Girvan but I like to hear the engine purr. Having grown up around cars I can really appreciate an old rust bucket like the one I drive everywhere. I begin to drum my thumbs on the steering wheel and lick my lips as I watch a burly Irishman taking swings at a young man who is standing by a baby barf green military issue duffel bag,

"Shit." I mutter softly under my breath as I start to get out of my truck, "ALAN!" He ducked under the large, redheaded man's fist as it swung at him. Of course it would be my brother who would be getting into a fight with random strangers outside the airport. After he ducks the punch he stands up and looks at me with this huge dopey grin on his face,

"Hey, Ge- Oomf!" As he tries to say my name the Irishman gets him in the stomach,

"That'll teach you! You lousy scum." The Irishman turns his back to my brother as I run up and try to keep Alan from doing something he will definitely regret,  
"Hey, Al, don't even think about getting back at him." I put my hand on his chest and start pushing him toward my car, "We're heading back to my apartment." He scoops down and grabs his duffel bag. He has a look on his face like he has half a mind to go back and destroy the man with whom he was fighting, "I can't believe that you have been here for five minutes and you're already picking a fight with someone. You are so unbelievable." I shake my head and push him toward my car,  
"But, Gen he hit me first! I didn't do anything!"  
"'Didn't do anything' my ass!" I recall back to him what had happened when he was talking to me earlier, "Come on, Al. How many times I have told you to be careful with everyone you meet, you remember back in Wichita. You became number three on the FBI's most wanted list. You have to be careful with whom you pick your fights." Now I'm pulling him by his collar the rest of the way to the truck until he ran into the door. Although I'm half his size, a bookworm and a girl Al is still quite afraid of me. Right now I have him pinned against the passenger's door of the truck and I can see the fear that is bedded deep within his eyes as my forearm is pressing hard into his collarbone.  
He nods quietly with a stone face that I can read very clearly. He's scared of getting into any more trouble than he has to. Which he shouldn't have to get into any trouble at all. But boys will be boys and they will have their fair share of trouble and then some.  
I grab his bag from his hand and toss it into the bed of my truck before walking to the driver's side and slipping into the seat as Alan does the same on the other side of the car. I slam my door, slightly annoyed with my brother and he does the same with his door as I start the engine. Fuck having a big brother.


	4. Chapter 4

The relationship my brother and I share is something that nobody can understand, hell, half the time we don't even understand it. But it's a relationship I don't want to let go of. It's just like what continuously happened to our father and his brother; One of them would die so the other would go about all means of getting them back until they got them back. At one point one of them was lacking a soul, dad never disclosed which though. Anyway, I digress, I guess what I'm trying to say is we'd go to hell and back for each other, literally. Even though he can be a royal pain in the ass, Alan is really an alright guy.

As I think about this a soft smile spreads across my face and I begin to tap my thumb on the steering wheel.

Alan makes a huffing noise and crosses his arms over his chest in frustration,

"I coulda taken 'im." I laugh at his muttering and shake my head at him,

"Yeah? And then what? I'd have to explain to my flat-mate as to why my older brother is bloody and bruised," He scoffs at me, "And why I'd be dragging him in by his collar." I flick the back collar of the leather coat that our dad gave him, said it was his dad's, just like the Impala,

"Don't touch me." He swats my hand away and goes back to skulking about not getting into a fight, "I could've had him on the ground in three-"

"Yeah?" Now I'm being more sarcastic, more demeaning in the way I'm talking to him, "And then what? Ended up in Scottish jail? Let me tell you, Scottish jail isn't fun." I wave my hand at him and I can practically see him roll his eyes at me, "Believe me, I've been in it, it's not fun at all, everyone wants to murder you just for lookin' at them funny." I've given him this speech many times but like every other time he just doesn't care.

I can see why he doesn't care though, we go up against the biggest, baddest, scariest things in the world. Sometimes we get out, a few times we've gotten caught, but it's not like we've gotten killed by any of them. We're more careful than that,

"Hey, by the way Al, how'd you get dad's gun and the knife in?" I glanced back and forth from him to the road and back again,

"Well, I took dad's gun apart and hid the knife in a stereo." I'm not surprised. We've taken the gun apart hundreds of times. I can practically put it together in my sleep,

"Why a stereo? Wouldn't there be some easier way of doing it?" It's confusing me, normally he'd do something different with the knife, like normally he'd check his suit case. Unlike our dad and uncle we fly to some of the places we're needed. Mostly because they both hated flying after an experience they had exorcising a demon on a plane while it was in mid flight,

"Eh," He shrugs, "I didn't have anything else that was handy." I chuckle at him and take the turnoff that would bring us to my apartment, "So how're you liking Scotland?" I shrug, not really knowing how to answer him,

"Oh, y'know. It's fun and all," He looks at me as I continue to drive, "But I miss old lady USA." Alan chuckles at me and lets his body slide down the seat a little bit,

"Got any good monsters lately?" I shrug and kind of do that crooked nod,

"Kinda, I mean I took out a Rugaru last week." That job was a pain in my ass, I mean I've taken out at least two Rugarus before but y'know, they have that whole "Flesh eater" persona without looking too much like a flesh eater. I mean sure their skin is creepy looking and the eyes aren't helping their situation, but they look human. Kinda, "And a couple days ago I got a wrathe. You'd be surprised how many there are out here." He laughs at me and we both sit in silence until we get back to my apartment. It's not a long drive from the airport to my apartment. Like I said before, it's only five minutes.

We pull up next to the staircase and I turn the engine off, getting out before Alan and walking up to the front door and unlocking it. When the door opens a small, sleepy Scottish voice comes from within,

"Genevieve? Is'at you?" It's my flat-mate, awake from her slumber and making coffee in the kitchen,

"Yeah, hey, Eve!" I greet her and wave for Alan to follow me in, "Did'ya get my note?" I can hear her rummaging around in the drawer for a mug,

"Yeh, now, how lohng 'sAlan gon' be stayin' wiff ohs?" The woman's accent makes it damn near impossible to understand her. But that was her asking how long he'd be here for,

"No longer than a week or two." I answer her and Alan comes in, dumping the duffel bag on the coffee table, "Hey, don't put it there." I reach over and grab the bag from the wooden plank, dropping it on the ground next to us,

"Ahlroit." I look up as she comes into the living room, her curly, red hair sticking up in every other direction and he pyjamas in sleepy disarray on her body. She's holding the mug for her coffee and wearing her fuzzy, pink bunny slippers. Her pretty green eyes are sparkling in that very stereotypical Scottish way.

Her eyes wander around the room and stop on Alan for a moment. And that moment is before her coffee mug slips from her fingers and shatters on the ground, waking all of us up,

"Oh! I'm soh sohrreh! Looket me, I'm soh cloomzy." She starts apologizing profusely as she leans down to pick up the broken pieces of ceramic off of the ground, "Let me joost clayne this oop." That's weird she's never just up and dropped a mug before.

I chuckle and lean down to start cleaning up the broken mug with her,

"Don't apologize Eve," I try to keep her from getting too embarrassed, "We've broken more things than we can fix. Now you're just part of the party." She laughs with me but it doesn't lessen the blush on her face. Alan chuckles too and just kind of shuffles to the couch and sits down. Is she crushing on my brother?

I gather up a few of the bigger pieces and walk with Eve into the kitchen, pulling out the trash can underneath the sink and dumping my handful in before she did,

"Oh, ma goodness, Gen ya di'n't tell meh that he'd be lookin' laihk thaht!" Like what?

"What? My brother isn't anything special." I shake my head at her and try to steer her away from him and his trap, "You don't want to have that." I laugh and she just leans against the countertop, studying my brother with her brilliant green eyes,

"'E's diff'rent, yohr broothuh." She crosses her arms over her chest and continues to watch him so I look back and he's just sitting there, letting his eye wander around the room and twiddling his thumbs. God how can anyone be attracted to that?

I'm still surprised every time I find him with a girl. I mean, I know hes my brother and all but he is just not attractive. He cuts his hair short- like buzz cut short and it's just not good looking. I mean sure he has the eyes that make my family famous, but that doesn't mean anyone should be attracted to him. I shake my head at Eve and walk back into the living room resting my hand on his head,

"You wanna spend the week in the living room or my room?" Knowing Al he's probably going to choose my room. He shrugs and stands up, looking at me,

"I dunno," He nods at Eve and points to her, "Can I stay in her room?" God Alan is shameless. I look over at Eve and all she does is stand there with her face almost as red as her hair,

"Eh-ehm, su-sure." She shuffles toward us in the living room, her legs moving kind of like jelly as she moves, "Dooh ya wohnt meh ta getcha a coht?" She jabs her thumb back toward the bedroom area.

Alan smiles and saunters toward her, when he gets to her he taps her under her chin and smiles slyly,

"I don't think that will be necessary." God what a pig. Eve can't help but let out a soft whimper as he stands inches away from her, undressing her with his eyes. I groan audibly and turn toward my bedroom, going inside before I can hear anything that they would be doing.


	5. Chapter 5

As I walk to my room I grab my coat off of the chair and drop my keys in our key-bowl,

"'Kay if you guys are gonna suck face all day I'm gonna go out for a walk." I don't even have to be looking to see that Al has his hand up Eve's shirt and his tongue down her throat. God it still makes me sick when I see him getting some and I'm stuck by myself with my weird habits and my weird little quirks.

Anyway, right now I'm going down to my favorite pub/cafe` for a good old fashioned Irish Coffee (although the Scottish have been feuding with the Irish for hundreds of years. It puzzles me too). The great thing about Irish Coffee, if you already don't know about it, is the amount of whiskey the Scottish put in. It's great. And the owner down at the pub knows I am/was a hunter/Woman of Letters so she's sure to add double whiskey into my drink. Hunter's helper as my dad would call it.

Thinking about my dad, he really was a weird guy. I mean in the bunker he'd always have sword fights with our uncle. Almost gave him a haircut a few times. See, our uncle is widely known for his long, luscious locks and there have been a few times, like how I am with Eve, where my dad would be practicing with something and my uncle would walk in at the worst possible time and an inch or two of his hair would be gone next to his ear. Another thing with dad was, every night before going to sleep, he'd pray to someone named Cass or something. Now, I know there are angels, but for my dad to know one that well, that intimately that he could pray to her by name. I'm still surprised. They must've been through some heavy shit together if they could talk like the way they did before my dad had died. And every night my dad would say "Watch out for Sammy and the kids." He would always say that. Whether he was just back from a hunt or if he was just down in the parlor getting wasted while he did research. And he'd ask Cass how his uncle Bobby was doing. I'd never met the man. He seemed great though, dad had always talked about how funny uncle Bobby was. And he'd ask how his friend Chuck was doing, who was a prophet, having written this book series that's going to be famous one day. Always talking about his friends. And he'd ask her to check on this woman every now and again. This woman and her son. Always asking to make sure they were okay. Right up until the day he died he asked to make sure everyone is okay.

I've been thinking this entire time, not paying any attention to where I'm walking, just walking and thinking with my hands shoved into my pockets and a scarf wrapped tightly around my neck. My shoulders are huddled up to my ears against the brisk Scottish wind and I'm walking at a steady, hurried pace to the pub,watching the ground as I move. There's a sudden figure's feet in front of mine just standing there and my head runs smack into them,

"Shit, I'm sorry." I apologize with an added slur and look up at the person into whom I had bumped. It's the man that helped me grab my keys earlier. This is weird, "Oh, hello."

"Hello," His voice is still deep a gravelly and he's still in his trench coat, now that I get a better look at it it looks a little dingy. He's still dressed in his church clothes too, "Genevieve." I stop and my heart starts pounding, do I have a stalker? "I've been told to keep a watch over you, by someone very important." His voice is monotonous as he speaks to me. the more he says the deeper his voice seems to get, "Now, don't be alarmed, I'm an angel of the lord." He's an angel,

"No fuckin' way." My voice is a low mutter as I take a step back, "Wait, what's your name?" Could this be someone my dad knew?

"My name is Castiel." He looks me up and down with an awkward, confused look on his face, "Did Dean not tell you that he sent me?" I can hardly hear him I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts.

Castiel, as in... Cas? Cas is a man? All those years of hearing my father say how much he missed Cas I thought he was talking about a woman angel, but no. Of course it would be a man. Of did I never even think that it could have possibly been a man? It never even crossed my mind once that it could have been a man. And whattaya know? It's a man,

"I'm sorry, but you're Cas?" He nods quietly and awkwardly, "The Cas that my dad lost to purgatory? The Cas who went crazy and kept poofing up on my dad's car naked and covered in bees?"

"That was one time, how much does he talk about me?" Wait, he still thinks my dad is alive?

"How long have you been out, Cas?"

"I'm not sure," He glances down at his watch and then back up at the sky, "What year is it?" I look around and then back to him and titter softly,

"It's uh," I take a moment to remember, "twenty thirty-seven. Cas-" I grab his attention before he starts to wander off, "Cas, my dad has been dead for almost thirteen years." I can see his face drop,

"What?" His eyebrows furrow together and he stares at me with that sad look on his face, "What happened to him?" He really didn't want to know.

My dad died in a fight with a Rawhead. He was trying to get Alan and I out of a mess that we'd made for ourselves and he ended up getting into the crossfire,

"A Rawhead... Got to him." I can barely get the sentence out without getting washed with guilt, "He died trying to save my brother and I."

"Right, your brother, where is he?" Cas tries to change the subject, very awkwardly but it works,

"He's probably shagging my flat-mate." I'll admit, that sentence is a bit more English than my accent would suggest, but when you're living in Scotland you tend to pick up on things like that. Cas nods and starts to walk around me, his footsteps echoing against the cobblestone walkways, "Hey, wait!" I try to keep him from walking to my apartment and it works. He turns toward me with a puppy-ish look on his face and steps uncomfortably close to me. I freeze and half lean back as he continues to stare at me with his piercing blue eyes. I place my hand on his chest and push him gently away, "How did you know where to find me?"

Cas shrugged and then went on studying the town around us, "You have a very distinctive smell." He's been sniffing me? Talk about violation! "Especially for a woman. I mean, the last time I smelled honey and iron mixed together was when I would be travelling with Sam and Dea-" He stops his sentence short and gives me that thinking look. Like he suddenly has an idea, "Sam. Where is he? I assume you didn't bring him with you?" I shake my head and walk around so he's facing me,

"No. Last I heard my uncle was in Texas taking care of a Wrathe." I wave my hand and tap his arm, urging him to walk with me. He follows me and soon we're walking down the street together toward the pub.

We reach a roundabout together and we have to stand there for a while, with Cas awkwardly staring at me, like he's studying me or something. When we're let to go across the street I dash as fast as I can without looking conspicuous and Cas follows me closely behind. When we reach the other side of the crossing he puts a hand on my shoulder and stops me, looking me dead in the eye,

"Hang on." He grips my shoulders tightly between his hands and with a sudden flash of white light I'm somewhere I've never seen before. I look around, we're standing outside the bunker and the Impala is in her place, under the camouflage garage that my dad had built for her,

"Cas? Where are we?" He starts to walk away from me, toward the bunker, "Cas!" I shout and start to walk after him, an angry strut in my step, "Wher-"

"Not where, when." When? What is he- Oh no. This little shit took me through time? What the fuck?! "And we're outside the Man of Letters bunker that time that Sam took you out for a walk with his dog." Oh yeah, I remember that. It was third grade and Sam had just gotten a new dog, a chocolate lab so he took me and Al out for a walk with it, "Come with me." Cas walks to the front door of the bunker and knocks hard on it, "Dean open the door."

"Cas, that door is pretty solid, I don't know if he'll hear you." After I say that the door swings open and a man is standing there. Not just any man though. My father is standing there. My father in the flesh,

"What do you want Cas?" Oh God he sounds good. I can't say anything as he looks at me and then back at Cas, "And who is this?" That kind of hurts. He doesn't know what I look like though, I can't really blame him. I get kind of choked up as I look at him and a single tear just kind of slips out of my eyes,

"Dad, don't you recognize me?" My jaw is shaking as I try to address him. He shakes his head and looks between Cas and I, "I-it's me, G-Genev-vieve." Before I can say anything else he grabs me tightly in a hug and pets the back of my head,

"What are you doing here? Hold old are you? What year are you from?" He keeps talking and it helps to hear his voice. I haven't heard it in so many years that I've almost forgotten what it sounds like,

"Cas brought me, I'm t-twenty-two-" I can hardly finish telling him anything. He's been dead for so long I can't believe I'm talking to him and holding him for real. That I'm not just imagining what it would be like to have him back in my life. I catch a sob in my throat and bring a hand to my lips trying not to cry too hard. He brings me to arms length and looks me in the eye, wiping a few of the tears that had fallen from my face,

"It's okay, you can tell me in a bit." He steps closer to me and kisses my forehead. I take a deep breath and my heart just feels like bursting, it feels like all that pent up love and hate and anger is just released in a sudden explosion of tears,

"I'm sorry, but when I'm from you're dead." I am hardly able to choke the entire sentence out in one go. My father stops and looks at me as he starts to go back inside the bunker,

"Yeah?" I nod at his question, holding back more tears from coming down my face, "How'd I go?" I shake my head and stare at his old leather boots. Just like I remember them,

"You get electrocuted while we're fighting a Rawhead." He nods and grabs my hand softly. His fingers are calloused and rough as he tugs me into the front parlor. Once we get inside I smile, it feels like home. It feels like what I left for good. I look over to my left at the opening into the kitchen, the archway still isn't scorched. We were never told as to why or how it got scorched. We just woke up one day and it was scorched. The bookshelves out in front of us are covered in books on the occult and the weird, its a small collection considering what we build up after dad dies. The scimitars on one of the low shelves are still there, the little one having yet to have lost its tip in a play fight between my brother and I. I look up at the high arched ceiling and smile, the stain from the time we were shooting tomato sauce balloons is there on the white concrete. The chandelier is still hanging there, sparkling brightly. A smile lights up my face as I remember the days that we would all gather in the literal theatre downstairs and watch all of Dad's favorite movies and then finish with all of Sam's favorite movies. My smile spreads wider and I can't help but dash over to the table in the center of the room to see if the initials my brother and I had carved into it were there.I get to the table and begin running my hand over the old wood until I come to the area we had carved them in. And there they were, clear as day. GLW and ALW. Exactly as we had carved them.

My dad follows me as I rediscover my old home, as I retrace the steps that I had lost over the years. I know it was just last year that I was living here but that last year was hardly spent here. Alan was always needing help somewhere,

"Uncle Sam!" The door opens and I hear a small child's voice as it does. I whip my head around to see the three of us standing in the doorway with the dog. Alan and I on either side of the moose that is our uncle and the dog in front of him,

"What's up Gen?" It's happening exactly like how I remember. Sam let's go of the dog's leash and he just runs over to dad and I, nuzzling its nose in our bodies and barking while Sam kneels next to me,

"Is Daddy going to go away?" I remember asking that. I saw Cas and a woman standing with dad, I thought he had a job,

"I don't know kiddo, let's ask him." He stands up and takes my hand, walking over to us while bending over 'cause let's face it. The guy is fucking huge, he's worth like five of me back in the time I'm from. He's a beast, "Hey, Dean." He looks at my dad and then to me, studying me while my father responds,

"Hey, Sammy. I don't think this is a job." He leans down and picks younger me up, resting me on his hip as younger me studies current me, "So I'm not going anywhere." He kisses my cheek.

I remember this now. There was a strange woman that dad was talking to when we came home. She was really pretty.

My dad puts younger me down so I'm standing and pats my back, "Go wash up, I think our guest will be joining us for dinner." I remember dad's cooking. It was so good. Definitely better than the diner food we were always eating. A soft smile spreads across my face. Tonight we're having spaghetti. My favorite,

"So wait, who is this?" Sam points at me with a confused look on his face and my dad chuckles putting a hand on my shoulder and a hand on his shoulder,

"Sam this is Genevieve from the future." Sam whips his head from dad to me and back again,

"What?" Even though he's time travelled a few times himself he gets surprised by time travellers. Even though I don't do this on the reg, you know. I only just met Cas, all this is very scary to me and very emotional. I think if I did this more often I'd end up in a mental ward, I can't take that many psychological breaks in my life,

"Yup." I answer him as he studies me, "I'm twenty-two and I live in Girvan Scotland with a little Scottish girl named Evelyn." Sam still looks confused, like he's going to ask where Alan is, "Alan is back in my apartment, shagging said flatmate." After I say that there's a sound of flapping wings and a bit of a flash and then some screaming from outside, "Speaking of the moron." I turn and walk back to the door, peeking outside.

Cas is standing next to Alan, blood draining from his nose and Alan is there half clothed with a very obvious erection under his you think walking in on your parents is weird, try having your younger brother zapped back in time half naked with a boner,

"Hi Alan!" I wave to him, smiling and laughing as he glares at Cas,

"DUDE WHAT THE HELL?!" He swings at Cas, nearly missing his face as Cas falls over with a loud thud on the gravel,

"Cas!" My dad runs out to catch him. When he gets there he takes Cas' arm and puts it over his shoulder, lifting Cas so he's semi-standing and half drags him into the bunker. Alan is still standing there, trying to cover his boner with his hands and trying to keep himself warm. Sam is standing in the doorway, scratching his head at how ridiculous his family is. And I'm just trying to hold in the laughter as everyone is in half a panic all around me. Oh God. My family is great.


	6. Chapter 6

We have a fire going in the hearth in the parlor and Cas is passed out on the couch with an ice pack on his nose while the rest of us are sitting around the large center table with plates piled high with dad's spaghetti. I think this was one of the last times I would be having dad's spaghetti. So I have my plate covered in the noodles and white sauce. It wasn't so much spaghetti as it was an alfredo for me tonight. As a kid I never liked red sauce so dad always made white sauce for me. Alan is sitting across from me, seemingly shovelling the food into his mouth and dad and Sam are sitting across from each other at the heads of the table. Little me and little Alan are both digging into our food ravenously, making it seem like we hadn't eaten in weeks.

We're eating in near silence, not wanting to even hint that Alan and I are from the future or that we're sitting in the same room as our younger selves. It's weird, y'know. You remember yourself a certain way and you don't have any other way of looking at it. But then when you do get a chance to look back on it you realize you weren't all that bad. You weren't as screwed up as you thought you were.

I smile and continue eating my dinner, glancing around the table every once in awhile, just to see everything. Younger Alan is having trouble getting the spaghetti on his fork to get to his mouth, he's just stabbing it and hoping it'll make it all the way to his mouth without dropping. Younger me is more focused on making things out of her vegetables rather than eating all of her noodles, crossing her eyes as she tries to stack her peas on top of each other, like a leaning tower of peas-a. I chuckle at her and dad looks up, looking at me with a smile and then back down at younger me, tapping younger me's arm gently to tell her that she shouldn't be doing that. She smiles sheepishly, feeling embarrassed and goes back to playing with her food, eating some of it at the same time.

It's not long before most of us are finished eating or pretending that we've finished eating. Sam and dad both take their plates and younger us' pates to the sink, I grab mine and wipe my mouth with a napkin before standing up and taking the plate to the kitchen. I reach the kitchen and see dad standing at the sink, cleaning dishes and Sam leaning against the table next to him, holding three plates in two hands. Like I said the man is frighteningly large. I walk over and set my plate on the counter before hopping up onto it and sitting. I watch dad as he finishes cleaning the dishes and puts younger us to sleep from my perch, it's not much higher than anywhere else in the bunker but it's a nice vantage point. That'd be a good tip for younger me. I'll tell her in the morning.

When dad comes back I slip off of the counter and lean against it, watching him as he puts things away and grabs a couple beers from the fridge,

"You drink?" A stupid question, really, considering we share the same lineage and all. I nod and take the beer in my hand, pulling a small pocket knife out of my pocket and popping the top off. The cap lands on the counter, amazingly enough, with a soft ding and shuffling sound as it spins on it's top,

"So, you're from the year twenty thirty-seven." He shakes his head and takes a sip of his beer, "Man, do they have anything cool? Like futuristic?" I nod, we have some futuristic seeming stuff,

"Yup, we have these cube things." I reach into my pocket to retrieve mine. I pull it out and show him the solid black cube in my hand. I press the button that's hidden in the black and out pops a virtual television, floating in the dead space around us, "I mostly use it to track omens and things like that." Dad comes around to my side of the television and looks at everything,

"How do you control it?" He lifts his hand and pokes at the screen. It flubs like jelly and then goes back to how it was. Dad seems surprised by it,

"Like this." I reach up and open my hand, selecting the weather channel with my right hand and sliding it over towards my left by swiping my hand across the screen. Then I put my finger on the volume and push it upward.

"There are record storms out here, Sean. You're not going to believe this; A whirlwind near Girvan Airport." There is a man standing outside the airport in a jacket, practically yelling into the microphone and we still can't hear him over the winds and the thunder. That's weird, when I left the sky was sunny and there wasn't a cloud in sight,

"That's not right." I speak in a hushed tone as my eyes flit nervously over the screen and I go to look at the different reports from other places near Girvan. Everywhere is lit up with lightning storms and whirlwinds. I close up my weather report and storm over to where Alan is sitting on the floor by the fire, "What the fuck did you bring with you?!" I can't help but snap at him, he's surprised, naturally and kind of crawls backward away from me,

"Wh-what're you talking about?" He seems genuinely scared,

"Alan there is a freak whirlwind and lightning storm in Girvan." I'm glaring at him, this always happens. Always! "When I had left the sky was clear." I get down on my knees and hold him by his collar to the carpet, "What. Did you bring. With you?" My face is inches from his and I'm straddling his waist, pinning his collarbone harder into the carpet,

"Hey, hey! Hey!" Dad comes over and grabs the back of my jacket, trying to pull me off of Alan, "Gen, shit like that happens all the time." I shake him off of me,

"NO!" Tears are starting in my eyes as I grip Alan's collar tighter and slam his head into the cement floor, "If what you brought hurts ANYONE in Girvan. I swear to God I will have your head on a pike." I can't help it. I actually have people worth saving in Girvan. I have friends there, not just Eve, "I-I swear to Go-od." I can't help but start sobbing as my grip weakens on him,

"Gen." Dad takes my arm in his hand and pulls me off of Alan, grabbing me in a hug, "Come here." He holds me tightly as I cry uncontrollably, "Darling you'll be okay." I can't help the rage that's bubbling inside me as it mixes with the utter fear that he brought something we can't win against.


	7. Chapter 7

That's something about my father. Even before us and before our grandfather died; dad was always the mediator. He was always making sure everyone was okay and as comfortable as possible. Even when Sam was being essentially haunted by the memory of Lucifer from the cage. Sam still gets a few flashes of Lucifer every now and again, even though dad told us Cas took all those memories away. He told us about how he would always be comforting his dad and how he didn't want us to have to do that for him. And when we were kids if we ever got into fights he would always break it up, holding both of us by the collar so we wouldn't rip each other apart.

Right now I'm sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the weather report on my cube. The storm seems to have stopped in Girvan but I still feel unsettled by what may have come overseas with Alan. Dad is off taking a shower and Sam is researching some stuff in the library. Who knows where Alan is. I certainly don't give a rat's ass where he could be. I'm still angry at him. The rage has calmed into a quiet simmer of anger but it's not quite gone.

I sigh and rub my face with my hands, it's a tick that everyone in the family has. It's weird when we all do it at the same time. Which we have. There was a time that we were all investigating something together and the person who we were talking to said something extremely stupid so we all did the face thing. Boy was she confused. She asked if we were related. We just claimed that Sam was our uncle and that I had been married off. She believed us although most of it wasn't a lie.

I lean to my right and then feel a sudden weight on the couch. My uncle Sam came and sat next to me, having abandoned several open books on the center table. He rests a giant hand on my leg and I look at him, trying not to look too angry at the world,

"What do you want?" I grumble, my chest feeling a little hollow as I stare blankly back at my weather report. He sighs quietly, trying to come up with something to say to me. The weather is still how it had been when I left, maybe a little hotter. I'm just glad it's no longer storming,

"Gen, if you keep looking at that you're just going to get more and more angry at Alan and the world." His voice is soft and caring, I can't help but calm down more. But I don't want to calm down. I'd rather be angry at the world than okay with everything. I shake my head at him and close down my cube, putting it on the coffee table, "Believe me, anger isn't the answer to everything. And don't try to cover it up." I sigh again and spread out across the couch, laying my head on the armrest and my legs on Sam's legs,

"He always takes away the good things I have." I doubt he can hear me, my voice is being muffled by the couch. He chuckles and puts a hand on my lower leg. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, "I mean, I can't have one good thing without him coming in and screwing it up somehow!" My mind wanders back to my old boyfriend. The one that I killed when I was possessed. That was last year. And the first time that I had run away from Alan. I ran to Texas and stayed there, doing odd jobs around town. I got an apartment near Dallas and lived there with my dog for three peaceful months. Until Alan had Garth track me down. God when he found me he was pissed. I don't see why though, I was finally out of his hair and he was out of mine. We were finally separate. I had a boyfriend and I'm pretty sure he had something with one of the baristas at his favorite coffee shoppe. But for some reason he came looking for me, and he brought a damn demon with him. A day or two after the incident I got the charm tattooed on my back. My entire world fell apart, all because he followed me,

"Gen, he just wants you to be safe. Dean was the same way with me." I shook my head and sat up, leaning my back against the armrest, "I used to run away all the time, my dad and Dean would- at first leave me alone. Then after a while Dean started to hunt me down." He rubs one of my legs, warmly, and slides down the couch to me until I'm practically sitting on his lap, "The last time it happened, that I remember the most was when he pulled me back into all this." He motions around the room and lets his hands rest back on my legs, "I was at Stanford, studying law." He chuckles, "My life was finally going the way I wanted it to. Then Dean showed up, telling me that dad went out on a hunting trip and hadn't been home in a few days." He shrugs, "It was supposed to be a one time thing but then Jess got killed and Dean sucked me in." He shakes his head and then hugs me, "Once you're in this life you can get away from it for a while. But it'll always come back to haunt you." He hugs me and then stands up, letting my legs drop onto the ground.

I sigh again and sit up, staring at the empty living room. 'It'll always come back to haunt you' That will always come back to haunt me. I can't take it. Everywhere I go I can't get away. I got a whole three countries away and that still wasn't enough. My friends are back in Girvan, all my friends and I don't want them to get hurt. I stand up and start to pace anxiously around the living room muttering to myself,

"I have to go back. I have to go home." I continue pacing, I'm the third or fourth turn now and I'm getting more and more uneasy with there not being any actual hunters in Girvan in case what Alan brought is really malevolent. I keep going, my eyes staring at the floor as I do. My breathing gets deeper and my focus gets harder on the same line of cement. I hear loud, heavy footsteps but I don't look to see who's walking or where they're standing until I run into them, again, "Shit, sorry." I look up and put a hand on the man's chest trying to push myself back a little.

When I look up I'm met by the familiar green of my father's eyes and my gaze drops back to the floor. His expression is blank and his eyes are unblinking as he watches me. He's studying me carefully. I'd seen him look like that at Sam in years past. The way his eyes would slip and slide over whomever he was studying, it was his way of asking if you were alright.

No one is ever okay in this world. Not when there are monsters eating people or turning them into monsters too. Nobody is able to really be okay when there are phantoms and demons watching their every move, waiting to rip them to shreds or take them as their own vessels, to be used and played with while everyone they love is dying around them,

"Gen, are yo-"

"No!" I interrupt him, my insides and outsides on the verge of exploding, "I'm not okay, dad. Alright? I'm not okay, you of all people should definitely know that." My voice is close to shivering with desperation. I'm desperate to get back home but I know I can't go home until Cas wakes up and that may take a few days. Fuck I just want to make sure my friends are okay.

Dad wraps his arm over my shoulder and half pushes me toward the front door, "Okay, I get it." I look at him and he half smiles at me, "Let's go out for a bit, I'll let you drive." I half freeze and look at him. He never used to let me drive. All dad does is smile at me and keep pulling me toward the front door.


	8. Chapter 8

I'm gripping the steering wheel of the Impala so tightly my knuckles are turning white and my foot is like lead on the gas pedal. If I die tonight then so be it. I'd rather die going ninety-five than by anything else. not even by a monster. Too many monsters have claimed my family. My eyes are glaring down the road, dead set on the empty horizon in front of me. The headlights of the Impala are reaching out in front of me, I have the brights on because no one else is driving at ten o'clock in the middle of the United States. The lights are illuminating the yellow lines that are dashed along the middle of the road and the luminous cat eye tags in between the lines. The engine of the Impala is roaring angrily and skipping every time it changes gears, the sound drowning out the classic rock that is blaring through the old stereo. I can feel the vibrations of the engine and the tires as they fly over the pavement. My breathing is deep and angry as I keep driving, my mind completely blank as I go.

My grip on the steering wheel loosens as my mind starts to think about all of my friends and my professors back in Girvan and my eyes begin to water. I sniff and my eyebrows scrunch together in anger as my foot lightens off the pedal. The car comes to a slow creeping stop in the middle of the road and I just sit, leaning my head on the steering wheel, sobbing as my mind goes to whatever it is getting to Eve. Or even Jeremy. He's my study partner in my theology class and I'm starting to feel things toward him. Jeremy and Eve are more of a family than Alan, Sam or dad were. So much more of a family. I've only been living in Scotland for a month but I've already built up a profound bond with them. I've known Jeremy for even less time,

"Gen." My dad's voice is soft, tender and kind as he places a hand on my back. I keep crying as my hands grip the steering wheel tightly, "Gen, you're bottling things up." He scratches my back softly and I continue to cry to nothing, "You should know that when this family bottles things up it turns into a Molotov Cocktail." I chuckle through the tears. My dad always knows exactly what to say to make me feel better about everything, "It's dangerous Genevieve." He becomes serious and my tears begin to slow,

"I know." I sniff and pick my head up off of my hands. I wipe my hands under my eyes to push the tears away, "It's just I've gotten really close with some people there, and Alan always comes around to ruin everything." I sniff again and continue to wipe the tears off of my face, "I can never have anything good with him in my life." Dad scoots across the seat of the Impala and hugs me softly,

"That's our curse." He chuckles, "You guys are Winchesters. It's been proven that you can never have anything good if the other sibling doesn't have anything good." I shake my head and stare at the horn between my wrists,

"But he has something good." I scoff and look at dad, "He was doing what he loved in the places he loved with the things he loved." He shakes his head and squeezes my shoulders again,

"No." He kisses my cheek softly, "He doesn't have the person he loves."

That really struck me; I never thought that maybe- just maybe the reason he never left me alone was because I was really all he had left. The only remnant of his family and he was so in love with us being together he didn't want to let me didn't want me to completely grow up. He's had hundreds of women in his life but I never thought that I could possibly have been the one he loves the most. He always gives me so much shit I just thought he was always making fun of me. They were love jokes I guess.

I sniff again and glance at him out of the corner of my eye before looking back down at the steering wheel. And I guess that's why I'm always a little relieved when I see him. Because I know he's okay.

I sigh again, listening to the soft purr of the engine for a second before pulling over to the side of the road. I turn the engine off and step outside, walking around to the hood and sitting on it. I run my fingers through my tumbling curls of sandy blonde hair and rest my elbow on my knee. Dad comes and sits next to me on the hood, watching me with careful eyes. I take a deep breath and stare at the ground, watching a small snake as it slithers away from the car to a hole nearby. I wish I could be like a snake. If anything scares me I just get to slither away and hide from all my problems. But no. I'm a human. Not just any human too. I'm a hunter. I have to protect other people by facing everyone's fear in the face and getting rid of it. I can't just slide away from my problems. Snakes have it so easy,

"Y'know, Sammy and I used to do stuff like this all the time." Dad spoke up, interrupting my thoughts. I looked over at him and he was staring at the sky, "We used to drive out into the middle of nowhere just to look at the stars." His voice is soft, just above a whisper, as though he's afraid of waking the stars from their slumber. I look up with him and my breath get's caught in my throat.

The sky is peppered with stars, the brilliantly pale shades of blue and red freckling the black night like someone had splashed pastel colored paints all over a dark canvas. I scoot back to the windshield and lean my back on it, resting my hands behind my head. I don't know why I never did this before. The sky is seemingly twinkling with stars along the blueish green strip of the Milky Way Galaxy and the moon is nowhere to be seen as I stare up at the black velvet night. I can almost see the sky moving in lazy circles.

I smile softly, my mood having completely switched around. The raging storm in my chest has calmed now and now all I can really feel is blissful numbness,

"You look just like your mother." My dad reaches across the hood of the car and brushes a strand of hair out of my face. I smile and laugh at him,

"Dad, you're getting weird again." I bat his hand away playfully and he laughs,

"I'm allowed to get weird, you're my daughter I can say things like that because I love you." He scoots closer to me and hugs me softly, pulling me on top of him playfully, squeezing me tightly, "And she loved you."

And suddenly the mood was sobered. Any time anyone mentioned my mother everyone would get quiet. Sometimes dad would get angry. Others he'd get sad. After a while we just kind of learned not to mention mom at all.

I slide off of him and sit up, wrapping my elbows around my knees as I stare at the ground where the snake had been. That's such a simple solution to life. Just slide away from your problems. My mood has dropped now, feeling cold and empty. If this were a movie he'd be an iceberg and I'd be the Titanic. Dad laughs and scratches the back of his head,

"Sorry, I know, forbidden zone." I get up and slide back into the car, waiting until dad did the same before starting the engine, "Hey, Gen, I'm sorry." He puts his hand on my arm and I slow down a little bit in my thoughts and my sadness diminishes a bit as I look at him.

Even he looks sad. He looks older than he really is and his eyes look tired. I know he hasn't had a hunt in over a month but he looks like he's been on seven hunts in three days,

"It's okay." I answer back to him and pull back onto the road, driving back to the bunker where Sam and Alan were probably worried sick about dad and I.

We drive on the road for maybe five minutes before Dad's cell phone starts ringing, the generic rock tune playing through the tiny speakers in his pocket. I glance at him as he pulls it out of his pocket. He smiles and laughs,

"It's Sam." He answers the iPhone and I go back to watching the road, "Hey, Sammy."

"Dean where are you? Cas woke up and he's mumbling to himself in Enochian-"

"Woah, Sammy hold on." He makes the motions he normally does when he wants anyone to stop talking, "We just went out for a drive we'll be back in like ten minutes."

"Okay hurry." Dad hung up the phone and looks at me,

"Can you get us there in ten minutes?" We were about fifteen minutes out from the bunker,

"I can get us there in five." I let my foot press as hard as it could on the gas and the Impala lurched forward in a burst of speed. Dad laughs and pats my arm,

"That's my girl." He let out an excited hoot after he said that and the car lurched some more, speeding down the road toward the only thing I've ever been able to call home.


	9. Chapter 9

We get back to the bunker, not bothering to park under the shed and dad all but runs to the door, the gravel moving and grating against itself beneath his feet. I wait in the car for a second and realize that once again, the good in my life has been taken away by my family. But this was probably important. Something life threatening. I can be selfless if it means saving my family's life.

I turn the car off and start walking after my dad. He gets to the door and opens it, leaving it ajar so I could follow suit. Once inside I see the place is a wreck. I don't know how it could be like this- we were gone for literally half an hour. I scan the room carefully and take in some of the things that are wrong: The coffee table is flipped, one of the end table's lamps is on the floor. There is an intense scorch mark on the archway to the kitchen. So it was Cas that did that. The paintings are off kilter and the small mirror by the doorway into the den is cracked. There's a sigil painted on the glass in something red. I can't quite make out what it is. It looks like something dad put on the back of every door in the bunker. Wait a second, that's an angel banishing sigil,

"Cas?!" Dad is starting to look through the house, having seen the sigil when I did, "Sammy?" He goes from the kitchen to the den, "Alan?" From the den to upstairs. Man, we slept through this? A fight this big surely would have woken Alan and I up, "Shit, Gen call Garth, there's something hinky going on." I nod as he tosses me his phone and flip through his contacts for Garth. When I get the number it only takes a few seconds before a very sleepy Garth picks up the phone

"Hello? Who is this and why are you calling at two in the morning?" He sounds as helpless as he does in the future, only a little more little kid like,

"Garth, it's Genevieve Winchester-"

"Genevieve? Why do you sound older than five?" I shake my head at him and follow my dad around the bunker,

"Never mind that. Garth I need you to check the weather near the Men of Letters bunker. Can you do that for me?" We go into the theatre and the place is in shambles. The seats are broken off from their bolts in the floor and the carpeting on the walls is torn away. The screen at the front of it all is torn in several places and the corners are peeling off,

"Uh, yeah." He audibly gets out of bed and shuffles to his desk, "Why do you need this?"

"There's something hinky going on around here." I follow dad back into the living room. I shake my head and shrug when dad looks at me. I can hear Garth shuffling with some things, he's obviously nowhere near getting the information I need. As dad starts to look for some things he had laying around I go into the kitchen and look around.

There are pots and pans everywhere, broken plates are strewn all over the table, counter and floor. Every cupboard door is open along with the refrigerator and the freezer, cold air leaking from both. Many of the forks and knives and even some of the spoons are stabbed harshly into the wood of the table top. I walk over to the table and begin to pry the silverware from the oak table top. As I remove a long serrated carving knife from the center of the table something drips down onto the table. I stop pulling on the knife and stare at the drop for a second. A few more fall near it. The liquid is red and thick.

Blood.

Before I do anything else I look up at the ceiling and my eyes widen. I can't believe what I'm seeing. I can't stop myself as a shrill scream escapes my lips. A man is seemingly pinned to the ceiling by an invisible force and there are a pair of wings spread out on either side of him, scorched into the overhead cement.

Dad bolts into the room, taking the phone from my hand and looking where I'm staring. When he sees who it is he sighs and pulls me out of the bunker,

"Hey Garth, you hear me?" Dad walks with me to the car and I toss the keys to him. I can't hear what Garth is saying, hell I can barely make out what dad is saying.

I mean, it's not like I haven't seen a dead body before. I've seen plenty of dead bodies to last me three lifetimes. And I've seen bodies in a lot worse condition than that one was. But still. Just something about the body on the ceiling is engraved into my mind. Maybe it was his wide, glazed, unblinking eyes as they stared down at me. Or perhaps that his insides were on the outside. Whatever it was it made me uncomfortable even now. When we get into the car dad starts the engine immediately and drives off somewhere. I have no idea where we're going. I have no idea why we're driving away when young Alan and I are back in the bunker,

"Dad..." My voice is soft and weak as I try to address him. At first he doesn't hear me so I speak up, "Dad." My voice is only barely at speaking level and yet he's still talking away on his phone with Garth, trying to figure out what's going on. Once again I heighten the level of my voice and turn toward him, "Dad!" He stops talking on the phone and looks at me,

"Gen, what's wrong?" Finally he seems to be understanding that I am capable of feeling things like worry or fear,

"You left your kids in the bunker." I sigh exasperatedly and he just nods once before making a sharp u-turn that takes us off the road and back to the bunker,

"Right, forgot about you guys. Sorry." I roll my eyes as he speeds home. God this man is hopeless. I'm amazed he hasn't killed either Alan or I yet.

I stare off into space as we drive back to the bunker and wait in the car when dad goes and gets us. He brings a very sleepy Alan out and after him carries a still sleeping me out of the front door, locking it behind himself and walking to the car. He opens the door and sets younger me in the back seat before going to the truck and grabbing one of his older jackets and laying it over Alan and I. He brushes my hair from my face and then stands up and closes the door as quietly as possible. It shuts with a soft click and dad comes back to the driver's seat, driving us away from the bunker,

"Where are we going?" Alan's voice is shrouded in sleep and lazy sounding as he asks us about our destination,

"You're gonna spend a week or two with your uncle Benny." I remember spending this time with Benny. It was so much fun. Benny was an old friend dad had met during his escapades in Purgatory. He was a vampirate- a name coined by dad to describe vampires who only fed on people on ships and spent their days on the high seas. It still surprises me that he would trust Benny with us. Even though he was one of my dad's best friends back in Purgatory there is still something a little shoddy about him,

"Okay." Alan thinks nothing of it. I wish I could tell him about what is happening. But dad warned us many years ago about the bad sides of time travel and speaking up about future events. God, they deserve to know.

I sigh and stare out at the passing wilderness. Its exactly that; wilderness. The plains of the southern midwest were somewhat calming in their emptiness but still they could hold several terrifyingly real monsters. I slide down in my seat and close my eyes, trying to get a little bit of sleep before we arrive at Benny's house. It's still about twelve hours away.

When I close my eyes the only thing that I see is the man on the ceiling. His eyes wide and blank and his midsection torn to shreds, the blood dripping from his shoddily ripped apart body.

Dad flips on the radio and one of his favorite cassette tapes is in the player. I open one eye just enough to see him smiling softly to himself. There was a time- while dad was in hell, when Sam had the Impala. Dad always told him if he ever got her to take care of her. Well, when dad went to hell the first time, Sam had installed an iPod jack in the stereo and you can imagine how that went over with dad. Sam had put his iPod on it and when dad turned it on country apparently blasted through the speakers. Dad hates country.

That's what's great about them. They never agreed on anything at all. Except maybe killing monsters. Even then dad was always more "shoot first ask questions later". Sam liked to research things before he destroyed them. He has a journal somewhere with most of the weapons from heavens arsenal written down and sketched with what they do and how to use them. Many of the weapons have gone missing, no thanks to Balthazar who had scattered them around the earth without warning after sending dad and Sam into an alternate universe in which their lives were a television show. Dad told me that the people there had the weirdest names. Misha, Jensen, Jared. He told me that there was this beautiful woman whom Sam was married to in that universe who looked exactly like a demon that had addicted Sam to demon blood a few years before. He told me I reminded him of her, her name was Genevieve too.

They had some weird adventures before Alan and I were brought into the picture.


	10. Chapter 10

My body bounces, hard against the door as dad barrels down the highway,

"Sht." As I curse I forget to say the vowel and dad looks over at me,

"Good morning." I look around, we're driving on a desolate road in the middle of a desert somewhere in the south, "Do you want breakfast? There's a diner up ahead." I remember diner food,

"Sure." I sit up and stretch, yawning audibly as dad continues to drive, "Are Alan and I awake yet?" I look into the back seat and see Alan is fast asleep and I'm sitting there, twiddling my thumbs and staring out the window.

Dad pulls into the driveway of the small, rickety diner and turns the engine off,

"Hey, Genny," He turns back toward Alan and I and nudges my leg, "Can you wake Alan up?" I look back at my younger self and she nods, turning to Alan and shaking him softly,

"Alan, Alan it's time to wake up, we're getting breakfast." My younger voice is much higher than I remember it being and a lot squeakier too. Alan groans to life and curls up toward his window,

"Just five more minutes." I laugh at him and younger me shakes his shoulder again,

"Alan, come on! We're going to be with uncle Benny!" Alan loved uncle Benny I'm pretty sure he still does, you know considering he hasn't gone psycho vampire hunter on our asses. In my travels I've learned to never trust a vampire hunter. They are insane and driven for one goal: Killing vampires. And if the vampire killed their families they won't just stop at that vampire, they will kill every vampire they come across without any remorse. They are vicious and if you get in their way they will cut you down to size before handling their vamp,

"Fine." Alan utters the one word through a half closed mouth and stretches, like I had before getting out of the car. By now everyone is waiting for him on the outside and when he joins us we all shuffle toward the diner's door.

It's so hot out here I can see the heat radiating off of the diner's roof. Normally dad would be wearing his trademark leather coat and who knows how many layers under that but today he was stripped down to a t-shirt and jeans. Although he is still wearing his regular working boots and his ever present necklace and rings. I take a moment to remove my heavy coat and my long sleeved shirt before we step inside and tie the shirt around my waist.

Don't worry, underneath I'm wearing a tank top. What, you think just because I took my shirt off that I didn't have anything underneath? Jeez. I'm smarter than that you know! Anyway when we get inside dad directs us toward one of the booths and we all slide in, dad and I sitting across from each other and younger Alan and I doing the same.

While we wait I glance up at the TV, there's not much going on out here, wherever we are. On the news they're talking about a kitten stuck in a tree and the firemen that had to rescue her from the top branch. Really slow news day.

A woman comes to the table to take our order. She's a smaller woman, with her almost black hair up in a bun on top of her head and her cat eye glasses perching gently on the bridge of her nose. She's smacking her gum loudly as she looks down at her notepad that she is holding in her well manicured hand,

"Hey, dahlin' what c'n I getcha?" For being so far in the midwest she had an awful thick Jersey accent. There's no way she'd be talking like that to me. Dad always gets the women hanging from his arms, or lips,

"Hi, we'll have two burgers and what do you two want?" He nods toward Alan and younger me,

"Can I get pancakes?" My voice pipes up and dad nods, smiling sweetly. The woman taking our orders smiles as she writes it down,

"I'll 'ave him make 'em special for ya." She smacks her gum and pinches younger me's cheeks,

"I'll have some waffles." Alan doesn't sound too enthused about anything as he places his order. She smiles at him and then scribbles in her notepad before looking up at us again,

"D'ya guys want some drinks?" She glances around at us and continues to smack her gum annoyingly. Dad orders our drinks for us, considering we rarely ever stray to any other flavor and we all like the same thing. Diet Coke or Coke Zero on ice.

It would be different for dad but ever since mom died he'd stopped drinking alcohol. Before then he was a pretty heavy drinker, seeming to drown his sorrows and pain in the amber sting of whiskey. He wasn't a scary drunk. Not at all, he was just a sentimental and self-pitying drunk. It was sad. Sometimes dad would get wasted and mom would drag him to the bedroom and he'd just lay there and cry, thinking about all of his old friends who have died more times than he can count. Sometimes I would go into his room when stuff like this happened and I'd just sit with him, hoping to make him feel better. Somedays it would work. Others he'd stay in bed, even when I crawled in next to him and gave him big hugs. Mom always told me that hugs and kisses make everything better. She said it like something was always wrong too.

Sometimes dad would come home from a hunt and mom would be pissed. They'd start yelling at each other. Sometimes it escalated to violence my dad would end up having mom pinned to something like the cupboard or the door. But she wouldn't be scared, she'd be glaring right back at him. Sometimes she'd mutter something to him and dad would soften. But most times instead she'd just push her head toward his and kiss his lips. I guess that was her way of telling him to shut up for a second. His hands would relax and he'd let go of her, slipping his arms around her waist and just hugging her, sometimes he'd cry. Other times he'd just stand there apologizing to her.

As I'm caught up in my thoughts I notice dad is snapping his fingers in front of my face,

"Gen? Gen you there?" He waves his hand inches from my face. I nod silently and come back down to Earth in some midwest diner,

"Yeah, yeah sorry. I was just thinking." I stare down at the table and look around at the diner.

On the walls old records and things like that are hanging by thumb tacks and other items from the past are scattered about the room. There is a glass cake holder sitting on the diner counter and inside is half a pie waiting to be eaten by someone.

I know he isn't verbally asking, but something about dad is curious as to what I had been thinking previously,

"I was thinking about you and-" I pause and look at young Alan and I, "You and Camille." That was our mother's name, "About what she would do to get you two to stop fighting." I look up at him and his face has softened, "Did it work?" He looks down at his hands and shrugs,

"It did most days. It depends what you mean by it working." He studies the wedding ring that is still sitting proudly on his finger,

"Like did it really calm you down?" He looks me dead in the eye and nods,

"Yeah. Yeah, it really worked." His voice is getting soft, he's remembering her now, everything she ever said to him, everything she ever did with him, he's remembering everything,

"I have one more thing to ask."

"Shoot cowgirl." An old nickname he would call me,

"Why would you apologize?" His head snaps up so he's staring at me, "I remember you would apologize so profusely. Why?" Dad rubs his head as I ask him this and messes up his hair with his fingers,

"I would apologize.." He trails his voice off and sighs before seeming to compose himself, "I would apologize because when I asked her to marry me, I told her I wouldn't shout and I wouldn't hurt her. We would always fight when we were dating, she asked me not to when we got engaged." He shakes his head, "I can't tell you how many times I broke that promise before you came around. A few times she'd make me sleep on the couch. Sometimes we'd just sit and have some coffee or scotch. Every other time though-" He glances at younger me and does the motion we would use to tell us to cover our ears. I did as he said and giggled childishly, "We'd have make-up sex." EW!

"Eugh dad! Did NOT need to know that!" Alan shudders in his seat, "That's disgusting!"

"Hey watch it mister, that's how we made you." And with that Alan looks utterly mortified. Younger me is looking around at all of us, a big grin plastered on her face, "And you too." He points at me and that just made me feel worse about everything.

I make a mock barfing noise and Alan looks at me, confusion overrunning his face,

"Wait, what?! She's my-"

"I'm her." I point at younger me and Alan gives me this look of utter terror,

"Oh GOD!" He doesn't quite yell it but he says it louder than the rest of us are talking and runs to the bathroom.

Dad and both of me are still sitting in the booth, laughing at my older brother as he disappears through the restroom door. The waitress comes back to the table with a tray of drinks,

"Alroight goiys, heah's ya drinks." It's almost like she's speaking a completely other language.

"Thanks." Dad and I both speak at the same time as she sets down the glasses and a slip of paper under dad's. He picks it up and reads it, rolling his eyes, "Geez. It's like girls specifically dig unavailable guys." He holds up the paper with the writing toward me. The writing is her name and when she gets off work along with her phone number and some lipstick kissed onto the paper,

"Wow." I chuckle and take a sip of my drink, "You're still counting yourself as unavailable." I shake my head and dad nods, "I don't think that's healthy dad." This is a line he'd always use on Sam, "You know, things build up, you gotta let them go." Dad laughs at me and shakes his head,

"Why are you preaching to me, Miss Independent." He wags his finger at me as he references a song that's more modern than his music taste would suggest, "You have really got to get a boyfriend or something."

"I have a boyfriend!" I get defensive. Well, I don't know if Jeremy counts as having a boyfriend, "Well, kind of. I mean we're kind of a casual thing. Like he comes over to help me study theology and sometimes we end up in a little less clothing than when he arrived." I shrug and dad raises his hand for a high five,

"That's my girl!" He's smiling from ear to ear as I slap my hand against his, "What's his name?"

"Jeremy." I smile sheepishly and scuffle my feet on the floor, "He's the student who I'm racing neck and neck with to get the highest grade." He reaches across the table and ruffles up my hair,

"So smart and so pretty. You're just like your mom." I smile down at the table and the waitress named Tish come back with dad and my burgers,

"Wheah'd the little goiy goh?" She smacks her gum obnoxiously and dad shook his head,

"Bathroom. You know how family roadtrips are." She nods and turns around toward the counter,

"Alroight, well you let him know his foods gonna be out soon." Dad nods and looks at his plate with a dopey grin on his face.

It's another five minutes and half a burger later when Alan comes out of the bathroom. For a while I thought he would start living in there. When he comes back he sits in the booth stiffly and lays his hands on the table, waiting for his food to appear in front of him. Tish, the waitress comes over and sets his plate and younger me's plate down in front of the. We start digging into the food with no remorse and I don't stop until it's all gone. Alan takes a little more time with his, he picks at it, obviously thinking about something and every so often he'll take a bite of the gold brown waffles. After we are all one eating and dad is paying the check I take the kids and start for the car. Younger me skips ahead across the barren red desert sand toward the shimmering black Impala while Alan walks lazily behind the current me.

It doesn't take us long for everyone to get in the car and on the road and even after that it takes a short three or four hours before we get to the small town in the bayou that housed our favorite vampirate.

Benny didn't have a lot of a home; a shack by the ocean with a boat only fifty yards from the front door. Benny never could stand being on land for more than a few weeks at a time.

When dad pulls up to the side of the shack and turns the engine off there is a shout from the inside of the wooden boarded structure,

"Dean!" The screen door opens and out comes the southern native, slurping a packet of A- blood from a bag with a straw, "My boy, how are ya?"

"Hey, Benny!" When they reach each other dad grabs his hand and they do that kind of bro hug you see from a pair of friends that go back a few decades, "I'm doing good, how you holding up?"

"Oh, y'know. Scrapin' baih with the blood bags." He lifts the bag in his hand and takes a sip from it before looking past dad toward younger Alan and I, "He-hey!" Younger me runs up to him as he kneels down and opens his arms wide, "How's maih little huntuh doin'?" As she gets to hugging Benny he lifts her up and kisses her cheek sweetly,

"Hi uncle Benny!" Younger me is wearing a sheepish and shy grin on her face. After a few seconds Alan comes over and gives Benny a firm handshake,

"Hey, Benny." He has a soft grin on his face as Benny ruffles his hair,

"And how's the little punk doin'?"

"I'm doing alright." Benny puts younger me down and she dashes inside,

"Hey, Benny I was wondering if you could watch the kids for a little while." Dad catches Benny's attention as Alan follows younger me into the shack, "I've got some stuff to take care of." He jabs his thumb towards me and Benny follows the movement,

"Alright." His eyes travel warily up and down my body as though he questioning me internally, "Camille?" My eyes drop and I smile solemnly, shaking my head,

"No." I speak the one word and glance back at him. Now he's really befuddled. His eyebrows furrow and he squints his eyes as he studies me more carefully. He shifts on his feet as dad and I exchange a knowing glance,

"Did Cam have a secret twin that I didn't know about?" Dad and I both laugh and he puts his arm over my shoulders, squeezing me close to him,

"No, Benny this is Genevieve." Benny looks from dad to me then back again,

"The one you named li'l Genny after?" Dad and I both shake our heads at him,

"I am li'l Genny." The poor guy was confusing himself now, "I came back from the year twenty-thirty-seven. Not willingly though."

"Cas brought you back." He mumbled quietly to himself and glanced between us, "Dean, what're you droppin' the kids off for?" Dad puts his hands in his back pockets and looks at the ground, nibbling on his upper lip tentatively,

"There's been an accident with Cas. He's lost it again and zapped off with Sammy and Alan." Benny nods and chuckles,

"I told you that angel boy was trouble."

"Yeah, yeah, save it." Dad tries to keep Benny from making the argument he always used to, "I just need to know if you can watch the kids." Benny takes a moment, glancing around at the ground, seeming to study the leaves and the interspersed grass as he thinks for a second,

"Sure. I'll watch 'em. How long do you think this is gonna take?" Dad shakes his head, trying to come up with a rough estimate,

"A week or two. You can handle them for that long can't you?" Benny nods as he looks back at the shack,

"I always wanted to have kids of my own. I guess I can borrow your's for a while." He smirks happily and dad shakes his hand,

"Thanks Benny. I'll pay you back for this some time."

"Don't mention it buddy!" And with a wave or two from all of us that was the end. Dad and I are back in the car, driving back to the bunker so we could investigate what happened there last night.


	11. Chapter 11

I can't say too much about mom and dad's relationship. Only what I've heard from Alan and dad himself. And what dad would say were the best things; How they'd go out on a hunt together and the cleaner of the two at the end would go to a grocery store and get dinner and how they'd spend the night in a motel, watching bad movie after bad movie while eating microwave dinners. Or how they would go skinny dipping in the lake near the bunker. Or how when she was sleeping and he wasn't he'd watch her to make sure she was alright. To make sure she wasn't having a nightmare. And if she was he'd wake her up and hold her until she calmed down completely.

Everything I heard about them was so positive. It was so nice to hear that a hunter finally got the best of both worlds. Dad, once in his life had a real relationship. He had a girlfriend who he was living with and she had a son that he took care of and taught how to fix cars and stuff. He had a normal, apple pie life as he used to call it.

But then he got dragged into the big mess of monster hunting again. Dad and Sam both at one point got away. Sam got away for less time than dad but he still got away. He had a girl and a dog and he was living pretty normally. I wish I could've had that for more than a month. But I didn't really want to leave the lifestyle. I just wanted to leave my family. I mean this lifestyle was the only thing that I knew. I'd grown up with this, With the researching and hunting monsters. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

There's a soft nudge on my shoulder. I turn my body toward the left to see dad staring at me,

"D'you hear me?" I look at the dashboard and shake my head. He was talking to me? "I was asking if you'd call Sammy." He is already holding his iPhone in his hand, pinching the top between his index and pointer finger. He waves the phone so the bottom is hitting my lap as he asks me if I'll call him,

"Uh, yeah. Sure." I take the phone from him and unlock it with a swipe of my thumb. The poor guy doesn't realize that he can lock it further. I go to his contacts and slide down to the area that Sammy is in and tap his contact, tapping his number so it starts dialing his phone.

The phone rings a few times before Sam picks up,

"Hello? Dean?" Sam sounds out of breath and confused,

"Hey, Sammy, it's Genevieve." Dad snaps next to my face and waves for me to give him his phone so he can talk to his brother. He puts the phone on speaker so both of us can hear him,

"Sammy! God, where are you?"  
"I don't know, Cas is knocked out though. I'm not sure where Alan is. I think we're somewhere in Minnesota." Sam pants between sentences as though he'd just run a marathon,

"Minnesot- Sammy, try to wake Cas up and find someplace safe." I can practically see Sa roll his eyes.

"I know Dean, I'll find a rock or something. How long till you guys get here?"

"It'll be a couple days, do you think you can hold out?"

"Yeah, hey Cas is starting to wake up, I'll call you back."

"Okay. And, Sammy,"

"Yeah?"

"Be safe." Sam sighs on the other end of the phone and dad chuckles softly, "We'll be there as soon as we can."

"Okay. You be safe too, Dean. Bye." Dad sets the phone on the seat between us and I can hear Sam hang up,

"Hey, Gen, d'you think you can find him with that cubey thing?" Without taking his eyes from the road he points to my pocket where I had put the cube when we had left,

"Uh, maybe, if I have his number." I pull the cube from my coat pocket and grab his phone from the middle seat. I repeat my actions from earlier and pull my cube's locater application up so it's shining in front of my face,

"Man, I can NOT get used to that." He laughs as he continues to glance at the blueish colored screen. I smile and start to punch in Sammy's number. The cube takes a minute to triangulate his phone before zoning in on the area he's in,

"Uh, Dad. He's not in Minnesota." I tap dad's arm and he glances at me,

"Where is he?"

"He's in England." After I say that he stomps on the brakes and brings the car to a complete stop,

"What."

"He's on the outskirts of London, England." I wince as dad sighs,

"So, what does that mean."

"That means we have to fly." I look at him with one of my eyebrows raised and bite my lip softly,

"Shit." He curses and rubs his face, "Alright. I can deal with flying." He steps on the gas and we head for the local airport to see if we can get a flight out to England,

"You sure? You're terrified of flying. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yeah! I'm sure! If it means saving Sammy I can deal with flying a little bit." I nod softly and close my cube before dropping it and dad's phone on the seat between us.


	12. Chapter 12

Somehow, in the airport, we made it past security without so much as them batting an eyelash. I'm surprised dad didn't arouse any suspicion. I mean, here comes a guy, he looks normal at first, but after a second you start to notice the scars and the misshapen fingers and nose. After that you start to notice the callouses on his palms and fingers- obviously there from constant wear, but from what? A weapon of sorts, maybe a tool. Then your eyes travel to his apparel and you see his thick layers and heavy duty footwear. He does a lot of travelling on the road with not many stops between his destination and whence he was coming from. And your eyes float to his hands, one is wearing a ring with different areas flattened from a few too many hits and his knuckles are hard and heavy looking. You notice his build, muscular- but not from working out. Nor completely from physical labor. There is a hint of something in his eyes that could give someone who didn't know him better a chill in their bones.

As we're going through the full body X-Ray machines all dad can do is roll his eyes and tap his foot impatiently. They stop him a few times to do full body pat downs. I don't think he looks that much like a threat to society. But after it's all done we go on down to our flight and sit in the waiting room, looking around at the different people. There's a bigger man in a business suit waiting toward the floor to ceiling windows facing the planes. There is a married couple sitting together, arms linked together and the one's head resting on the other's shoulders. They look like a nice pair of young men. I smile and my head lists toward a large family of five or six people. The parents are sitting, drinking coffee and reading while the little kids are playing with their electronics and coloring books.

The only downside to air travel is the feeling of airports. They're all always the same temperature and the air always smells the same. Like every airport is pumped with the same air from the same canister and then kept there, never to be recycled or moved. It's disgusting. And the carpet in the waiting area is always stained; either with some kid's puke or with some adult's food. And speaking of the food it isn't top notch. I mean, it's alright especially if you're flying in a hurry. But otherwise it's just airport food.

Dad and I are now out of the security area and moving on toward the waiting area, our bags in hand and heavy jackets on our shoulders. England would be cold.

When we drove back to the bunker dad had helped me out with finding clothes that would fit me. He'd kept half the closet full with mom's clothes, hoping maybe one day that I'd be able to wear them or something. And he's damn lucky mom and I are the exact same size. so we both packed two of the leather bags we had left from when grandpa was still around, and the large duffel that dad was using for his entire hunting career we'd filled with things like sawed offs, holy water, salt, lighter fluid, shotgun shells, the Belgian demon slayer, and dad's trusty dusty colt. Everything we would need in case of a supernatural fight. And not to mention me mixed in some sodium borate in case we meet up with any Leviathans.

Dad clears his throat and points toward a restaurant that's next to one of the waiting areas,

"Want some dinner?" I guess I hadn't realized how late it was after all. I glance out the window and investigate the sky. It's dark with soft stars scattering the velvety blue darkness,

"Uh, sure." I nod and follow him into the restaurant. When we get to the door a waiter comes up to us and directs us toward a table in the back. I guess it's a good thing our flight doesn't leave for another four hours.

We order our food and eat it in near silence and I take the time to people watch. A fat married couple is trying to drag their overweight son through the crowds kicking and screaming. God I wish he was possessed. Then I could just kill him and no one would have to deal with him screaming like a little brat. My eyes flutter away from them toward a table inside the restaurant near the front. There is an elderly woman with whom I would presume to be her daughter, sitting at the bar. Now the elderly woman is by no means feeble as one would say. Her arms are covered in tattoos and she's dressed in the style of rockabilly with a red bandana in her hair and studs on her belt. The daughter is a whole other story. She's dressed in a long, strapless, floral dress and a pair of white lace Toms that hug her feet gently. I chuckle softly and go back to eating my food. Dad doesn't seem to notice me as he continues to eat his burger.

We finish eating (exciting I know) and we grab our stuff and kind of list toward our gate. We still have a lot of hours before we have to get on the plane. Ugh I just wanna go home and sleep in bed and maybe have some fun with Jeremy. Please God can I just go home?


	13. Chapter 13

Almost twelve hours and three barf bags later dad and I land in London, England. Dad is stumbling his way through the crowd, his body still not used to the solidity of the land while I'm excusing myself and other people as they hustle and bustle around the white linoleum floor. As we walk my eyes drift toward the high arched ceiling, studying every beam and every light that is hanging from the pristine white area. Dad bumps into my arm softly and grabs my bicep,

"Genevieve do you know where you're going?" He tugs me backward as I try to continue on to our destination,

"Yeah, dad, I know where I'm going." I've been here a few times. Greeting friends from other places who've flown in to help me out. With my lack of internet I don't have the resources to find information I need on some subjects. Girvan doesn't have an intercontinental airport, just the international one. It's nowhere near large enough to take in the different people that would be coming in from all over the world.

I half drag my poor dad to the turnstile and try (half heartedly) to grab the duffel that's going round and round on the metal plates.

After grabbing the bag dad finally returns to his normal self and we go through customs and repeat through British security. People were generally more nonchalant about dad and I. I mean, it's not everyday that you see a pair like us. Him being a bigger, more muscular and manlier version of me. With greener eyes and a tougher looking body. There isn't much that tells us apart, other than my boobs and my eyes.

I glance around at the people waiting outside for taxis or rides to come get them from their trips and their vacations or their business trips to India. People are shouting and waving their arms in their coat with elbow patches. There are people at a vendor asking for some fish and chips, and then the vendor hands them a small tray with fried fish sticks and french fries piled up next to a small saucer of tartar sauce. A man is riding his bike to work, the back end of his suit coat flapping loudly in the draft he's created behind himself and the rubber tires beneath him making a sizzling type noise against the cobblestone walkways. I glance around for a minute or two before nodding toward an area where a double decker bus is loading by the corner of the terminal,

"Come on, I think I can get us there fast." I wave to my dad so he knows where we're going and he follows, grudgingly until we reach the bus. I never did like riding on these double decker buses. I always feel like they might fall over at any second. I guess dad has the same instinct. He's sitting closest to the center of the bus, wringing his hands and glancing around nervously.

I don't think I've ever been in a nicer area than London. I mean, the air is crisp, the people are friendly and the food is alright. I look around as the wind whips my hair behind me and watch as the buildings and people whizz by us in a blur of brown and grey. I take a deep breath and revel in the smell of the English air. This is really where I belong, not in America; Right here in the good old UK.


End file.
